


hubert gets the pegasus of his dreams

by jonphaedrus



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem Trans Winter Exchange 2020, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28437798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus
Summary: in which what it says on the box takes place.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 8
Kudos: 41
Collections: Fire Emblem Trans Winter Exchange 2020





	hubert gets the pegasus of his dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Clyncye Rudje (Tiamat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiamat/gifts).



> happy holidays, ClyncyeRudje!!! i hope this is satisfying for you with hubert getting the pegasus of his dreams. hubert deserves a good horse. for a good boy.

Hubert von Vestra liked to think of himself as a practical-minded person. Every aspect of every day was planned for, lists upon lists, detailed diaries that structured his entire existence. From the cradle to the grave he has structured his life to be: strictly business, no nonsense, get it done. Someone had to get it done. He was going to get it done.

This extends even to the holidays. Around Midwinter festival time, Hubert would compile lists for what would be appropriate gifts, taking into account mutual relationships, proximity, gift expectations, cost...there would be no such thing as someone going out of their way for him. Kindness was one thing, but he knew how quickly that could sour. It was much more effective to come in fully prepared.

That particular year, Edelgard accepted her list with grace and aplomb, nodding thanking him, and, as Hubert well knew, would promptly not follow it at all. Byleth took it with a knowing gleam in their eye, an unspoken laugh, a quiet thank-you. Byleth always took Hubert’s suggestions to heart, which he appreciated.

When Hubert went to give Ferdinand his list, however, Ferdinand told him: “No, I don’t need it this year.”

“What,” Hubert had said, standing there trying his best not to loom threateningly with disappointment and failing, his loom intensifying when Ferdinand didn’t seem to even notice the loom.

“I already have something in mind,” Ferdinand told him, passing back the list. “You’ll like it, I’m completely certain. You needn’t worry.” Hubert loomed more. Glowering. Ferdinand beamed back at him like the sun. “Trust me.”

Hubert did trust Ferdinand.

That was the problem.

There were so many layer to the complexity of gift giving. Especially around the holidays. After the War, it was impossible that Hubert could truly hang onto religion, even though it flitted at the edges of his mind, but the holidays were still the holidays, Saint’s days still full of winter joy and delight even if the saints were, you know, his former teacher and friend. (Whatever.) But there was so much _expectation_ with gifts, to if you did it wrong, if you did too much—he could go down rabbit holes on it. 

And Ferdinand had a joy de vivre, a zest for life that let him turn a blind eye to propriety and accepted standards, and meant that he would  get Hubert whatever he wanted. But that same propriety (and also that he and Ferdinand were a  _Long Established Couple_ ) meant that Hubert couldn’t say “Please don’t do that,” but like, Ferdinand,  _please don’t do that_ . 

Ferdinand said: too late!  Already done.

Surprises were supposed to be fun. In  Hubert’s experiences, surprises were usually stressful, fraught affairs, full of tension and lots of people staring at him, trying to gauge his reaction. But—it was Ferdinand.  So for Ferdinand’s sake, well, he would try.

Over the weeks he waited, Hubert came back again and again to the question of the surprise. There was, perhaps,  something to be said for anticipating a surprise from someone whom he trusted. It appeared in his thoughts, floating at the back of his mind, at the oddest possible times.  When he was falling asleep, when he was cooking, getting dressed, correcting ledgers he would remember that there was a surprise waiting for him on St. Seiros’ Day. 

And so, perhaps, maybe he got a stool and went poking around into some of the less-trafficked nooks and crannies of their rooms (such as the back and top shelves of the closet or behind and under clothes). Hubert went about it furtively, waiting for Ferdinand to be distracted, replacing everything with exceeding care. No matter how hard he looked, however, he could find nothing secreted away, no suspicious package or oddly-shaped objects. Nothing.

When St. Seiros’ Day did at last arrive, Hubert awoke even earlier than he usually did, rising before even false dawn’s grey light had begun to touch the sky. He lay there, in bed, hands folded over his chest and listened to the comforting sound of Ferdinand snoring, the damp spot at the corner of his pillow cool against Hubert’s bare shoulder. He was not a child and would not fall prey to the desire to wake Ferdinand up and demand  _what did you get me I need to know yes right now immediately._

Hubert managed an hour before he broke, shook Ferdinand awake, bent over him and whispered, “I _need to know_.”

Ferdinand laughed at him (which he supposed he deserved) and then agreed to get up. It seemed to take _forever_ , Ferdinand dithering over which hair tie he wanted to use, debating if it was cold enough to wear a second pair of socks, stealing glances at Hubert to check if he was getting increasingly anxious. Hubert, for his part, loomed ominously in the corner, following Ferdinand around three steps behind him, trying not to wring his hands and failing. “Waiting longer enhances the surprise,” Ferdinand told him, when he’d at last picked the proper pair of gloves, squeezing Hubert’s upper arm. He was beaming like an overexcited child.

“Why are _you_ so excited,” he asked, as Ferdinand towed him through the halls of the castle, ducking down side paths and waving to friends as they passed. “You aren’t the one getting the gift.”

“I’ve been planning this for years,” Ferdinand replied, like you could just drop that on someone, totally blasé. Hubert totally lost track of where they were going for a good few minutes as he tried to process that revelation. What had Hubert wanted for long enough that Ferdinand had been _planning_ this? His gift requests were always practical, nothing of the sort that needed to be planned for. He wasn’t asking for specially decanted wines—it was usually one of the new Almyran pens, a new pair of riding gloves, an antique paperweight. Practical, useful things.

“What...” Hubert began to ask, as Ferdinand took a sharp right turn out of the castle proper and into the courtyards. Hubert, who had not put on a coat—thinking they would just be going somewhere in the castle—immediately pulled his collar up, wincing as cold air blasted his ears.

Ferdinand, apparently too excited to consider such vagaries as _weather_ had completely forgotten a coat, his cloak only half-on. Even out in the courtyard, he didn’t wait long enough for either one of them to properly get chilled, pushing straight through to the stables.

“A horse?” Hubert asked. He dug in his heels—for all the good it did, as Ferdinand didn’t even seem to notice, dragging him right on despite it. “Ferdinand, I _am_ capable of riding a horse, but you know as well as I that I am hardly suited for a life in the saddle—“

“Not a horse,” Ferdinand replied, breathless from how fast he was dragging Hubert. “Wait one more minute before passing judgment, Hubert, I beg of you.”

Hubert did not groan, but he _did_ roll his eyes. Ferdinand couldn’t see him but it was the spirit of the thing. Ferdinand bypassed the regular horse stables and kept moving on, Hubert trailing him like a somewhat bemused duckling, until they came to the next building and Hubert froze.

Ferdinand stopped pulling him. He turned around to stare at Hubert, who felt as if he could not blink.

“Ferdinand,” he began, his voice hardly above a whisper. “This is the...pegasus stable.” A world that he had entered only reluctantly most of his life. A world that was almost-but-not-quite out of reach. A reminder of what could have been, if he had been someone else.

“Trust me,” Ferdinand told him, and Hubert had never been able to deny Ferdinand anything. So he trusted Ferdinand, and followed him into the stable, past pegasi who were being brushed down, saddled, talked to, past stableboys and girls, Pegasus Knights in uniform coming or going to their patrols.

At the back end of a branch of the stable that was dim and smelled vaguely of must, one of the least-populated bunches of stalls, Ferdinand stopped in front of the stall on the end, and then gently took Hubert by both of his elbows and pushed him to look in.

Inside there was a juvenile pegasus, perhaps most of the way grown. He was a handsome grey dun with an irregular blaze covering his right eye, which was blue instead of brown. He stirred upon seeing Ferdinand, stepping up to the wall of the stall and snorting at him. He stamped, impatiently.

Ferdinand handed Hubert a handful of sugar cubes, closed his unresisting fingers around them. “He hasn’t been named,” he told Hubert, nudging him up to the edge of the stall. “He’s being trained with the other new pegasi for the new recruits, so he’ll be flying fit, and if you don’t want to fly him, he can be taken out on patrol. He’s an easy rider. I hope you’ll get along.”

Hubert fell silent, staring at the pegasus. He didn’t know what to say—he barely knew what to think. Ferdinand had remembered his long-hidden dream of having a pegasus of his own, even if Hubert couldn’t properly fight on wingback. Or maybe even ride. Ferdinand squeezed his elbow, trying to get him to hold out the sugar cubes.

He opened his hand, and the pegasus lipped at his fingers, found the sugar, and ate three of them in a single chomp, then came back for the rest. Hubert wanted to ask—are you sure? Should I really have the ownership of this?

Ferdinand squeezed his elbow.

The pegasus snorted and rested his entire snout into Hubert’s hand, closed his eyes. Hubert felt something big and warm and improbably sentimental grow in his chest, and he knew. Yes, he was sure.

“I love him,” he told Ferdinand, and meant it.


End file.
